


Healthy n' nice

by Comedia



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Bad Jokes, Fluff, I mean B-A-D, M/M, McCree cuts everyone's hair, as always I fell in love with a ridiculous concept and took it way too seriously, but also i kinda love it, cursing, hairdresser au, i hate this, incompetent dad 76, silly from beginning to end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-26
Updated: 2016-10-26
Packaged: 2018-08-27 06:23:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8390611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Comedia/pseuds/Comedia
Summary: There's a reason why every member of Overwatch have such well-styled hair. That reason is a certain Jesse McCree. As a new recruit, Hanzo ends up getting to know the cowboy's barbershop skills quite intimately.Or the one where McCree is awesome at cutting hair, and is immediately intrigued by Hanzo's ponytail.





	

**Author's Note:**

> As a Swede I took the opportunity to openly hate on our traditional snaps. If any mention of Swedish snaps in this story got you intrigued to try it out - don't. You have been warned.

The first weeks with Overwatch were easier on him than he expected. Hanzo had counted on the members being reluctant to work with him - if not outright hostile - but found them highly disinterested at best, and mildly interested at worst. Most of them seemed to have accepted that that this team consisted of people with various degrees of a criminal record. Compared to some of them, killing a family member seemed like child's play.

He learned quickly that only Soldier 76 got up earlier than him in the mornings. Whenever Hanzo went to brew his tea, the old man was already there, grunting in his general direction. He discovered that Lena was as messy on the training course as on missions. He found to his surprise that he could hold his own in a drinking contest with Reinhart.

There were many personalities to get used to, but Hanzo found he managed just fine. Despite the vast age difference of the team members, most were experienced enough not to push him too far. They knew when to stop digging. When to accept his silence as answer enough.

Just as he's about to get comfortable at the base, a group returns from an overseas assignment, and the introductions start all over again. He meets Angela, the woman who brought his brother back from the brink of death. He's introduced to Hana, a girl who seemingly does more work than there's time in a day, and she, in turn, insists he must hang out with Lúcio, the resident musician.

It's been days of exhausting socialization when he finds himself in the kitchen late at night. Curled up in a corner, a bottle of beer in his hand; Hanzo quite enjoys the "hoppy" ones. Hoppy, what an odd word for something so complex and bitter. He's been told the flavor suits his personality. These remarks may be jokes on his behalf, but he quite likes the comparison.

Bastion is by the kitchen counter, whistling contently as it prepares some seeds for its little bird friend. Hanzo quite likes Bastion, the omnic has a calm presence - even more so than the monk his brother refers to as "master".

"Quite a ponytail you've got there pal." Hanzo actually starts at the sudden intrusion. He must be really tired not to have noticed the stranger approaching him. The intruder is right by his side, just out of reach, and brings with him a scent of tobacco and cologne.

"Excuse me?" Hanzo sizes the man up, not hiding his scrutiny. Worn out boots, spurs on the heels. Leather chaps, crowned by a garish belt buckle with the word "BAMF" engraved on it. Hanzo vaguely recognizes the term - bad... ass... something - and commits it to his memory. He shall have to google it later on.

"Mean nothin' by it." The man puts up both hands, a gesture of surrender. His mouth is curved into a grin, and when he gets no immediate reply he raises a hand to scratch at his beard. Dark brown, rough hairs, seemingly styled with some intent, but not enough patience to keep it neat. And of course the man wears a cowboy hat, as if he wasn't enough of a stereotype. "Just got an eye for hair. First thing I notice about a fella."

Hanzo raises an eyebrow at that. Takes a sip of his beer and feels the man's eyes on him as swallows the liquid down. The moment feels charged in a way he's not used to. Those brown eyes - quick, sharp, framed by crowsfeet. Hanzo knows this man could be trouble, yet he indulges him. "I would say that's oddly specific."

The cowboy barks out a laugh at that. It's a rough sound, but Hanzo isn't used to people picking up on his humor at all. He finds it quite pleasant.

"It is specific. The kinda "specific" that takes skill." He's being vague on purpose, probably hoping to be intriguing. Hanzo is not so easily baited. He gives the cowboy a once over. Doubts that anyone with such a cocksure smile; laid back posture; scarred and impressively large hands; would dedicate their time to something as delicate as hairstyling.

"You are saying you're skilled at hair?"

The cowboy tips his hat in reply, an almost belated greeting. "Ever wondered why all these Overwatch peeps walk around with dazzlin' haircuts?"

"No." Hanzo's answer is quick. Biting. Hopefully enough to hide the fact that he's suddenly thinking back to everyone he's met this far. They do indeed have immaculate hair. Much too neat for an illegal task force whose members kill more often than they hold back. To cover his bewilderment, Hanzo launches directly into another question.

"You even trim the, ah..." he pauses, knows he's being way too dramatic, but also relishes the way the cowboy stands there breathless with anticipation, wide eyes fixed on Hanzo's lips. "... scientist?"

The unexpected punchline to the question startles a laugh out of the man. "Quick learner, eh? I like that. Big guy threw me through a couple'a windows before I learned."

There's a chirping noise of agreement from the kitchen counter, where Bastion seems to observe their interactions closely.

"Anyway, 's late. I got some shut eye to catch, an' you've got a beer to chug." The cowboy winks at him, and then turns to leave. There's a moment of hesitation. Then he looks over his shoulder, and he has to know how flattering this pose is, because when his gaze finds Hanzo's there's enough challenge there to make the dragons stir. "Name's Jesse, by the way. Jesse McCree. If you ever wanna untangle that mane of yours, lemme know. Promise I'll be gentle... unless you prefer somethin' else."

Hanzo won't let the man - Jesse - see him flustered. "We will see, McCree-san."

Once the cowboy has left the room Bastion whirs for a bit. Then it lets out a sly "wee-wee-wooo" in Hanzo's general direction. He simply snorts in reply. Acknowledging the comment any more than that would imply something just... transpired. Hanzo would prefer to at least pretend it didn't. Doing so will simplify his life, at least for the time being.

Soon enough the omnic leaves as well, beeping about how Ganymede has been on its own for much too long. Hanzo remains in the kitchen long into the night. Sipping his beer, deep in thought. He does not "chug".

\---

A few weeks later, and Hanzo has seen quite a bit of Overwatch's very own cowboy. The man is, in fact, quite impossible to ignore even if he'd wish to do so. Every meal he's in the midst of whatever hijinks are currently taking place - cooking food, making bets, distracting people from eating with crude jokes and shocking comments. Every evening when Hanzo sneaks off for some peace and quiet, McCree's already up on the roof. Overlooking the coast, silent and solemn and billowing smoke - he's not quite meditating, but he's calm enough that Hanzo doesn't find his presence grating.

Then there's the missions. They've been sent out together a couple of times, and while Hanzo shouldn't be surprised to find the man both skilled in combat and a clever strategist, his gaze wanders more than once to seek the cowboy out. The way he moves, slow and fluid, quick and deadly. His loud presence and steady hand. The way he takes groups of enemies out with one quick draw.

Hanzo's only comfort is that he isn't the only one awestruck. The first time he unleashed the dragons during combat, McCree in turn unleashed a string of hyperboles and curses in more languages than Hanzo could identify. Every time since, McCree turns to him the second he summons his spirits - smile on his lips, eyes wide in anticipation. Maybe, just maybe, Hanzo summons them once or twice when it isn't strictly necessary. In his reports he explains it as professionally as he can; area control; didn't know what was on the other side of the door; needed to ensure delivery of payload. It's all he can do not to say "I just wanted him to look at me like I'm the sun and the stars and the current of the ocean tide."

One day he does say something of that kind, though. Or well, at least he lets his interest show more than he normally would. Soldier 76 is the only other person in the kitchen. Hunched over a few dossiers, grunting noncommittally when Hanzo enters. Before getting started with his morning tea, he grunts back.

After putting together a simple breakfast he sits down opposite the old soldier, feeling uncharacteristically nervous. His entire friendship with the man is based on them not actually talking. On the other hand, he needs answers, and thus he clears his throat.

"Mr. 76, I must ask..." He trails off, testing the waters. Soldier 76 doesn't seem too cross about being spoken to, so he continues. "McCree says he cuts hair. Is it true, or is he trying to fool me?"

The soldier points to his stylish white hair. Harrumphs. Hanzo stares at him with wide eyes. After all he's seen of the cowboy, he definitely expected this part of his person to be nothing but a joke. Speechless he settles for humming in response. Soldier 76 seems content to let this be the end of their conversation, and once again focuses on his reading. They spend the rest of the morning in silence.

\---

Another three days, and Hanzo's curiosity get the best of him. He's in the kitchen, nibbling on his dinner while trying not to be distracted by the quite loud, quite inebriated cowboy just a few seats away from him. They are celebrating the outcome of a recent mission, where it seems they did not only push Talon back, but cleared them out completely from the area. At some point Torbjörn felt it necessary to share the "liquor of his people". Out of courtesy Hanzo tried a shot of the Swede's "Akvavit" snaps; he has not recovered since.

Hanzo is not shy, nor is he a coward, but it's the liquid courage that pushes him over the edge and has him walk up to the boisterous American with determined steps. Hana and Lúcio are in deep conversation with the cowboy (something about making remixes with Ganymede on Hana's stream... Hanzo does not want to know the details), and look up at Hanzo expectantly as he approaches. McCree on the other hand takes a swig of his beer, seemingly clueless to his surroundings.

"Mr. Big Ass Mother Fucker", Hanzo starts, purposefully getting the phrase wrong. It earns him a _"whoop"_ from Lúcio, a _"priceless, I'm gonna tweet that"_ from Hana, and some awkward-spluttering-on-the-edge-of-choking from McCree. "I have a question for you."

The cowboy turns with an expectant smile on his lips, having regained his composure fairly quickly. "I'm all ears, pardner." As he awaits Hanzo's question he takes another big swig of his beer.

"If I allowed you to do what you will with me... what would you do?"

This time McCree actually chokes, and manages to spray his drink on everyone and everything nearby. Hanzo does his best to nonchalantly take in the mayhem, schooling his expression into something that hopefully isn't too gleeful.

McCree splutters and grumbles to himself as he wipes his face with the sleeve of his shirt. When he once again captures Hanzo's gaze there's something both mischievous and shy in those brown eyes. "Well, ah, 's that really somethin' you want me to divulge in public, darlin'?"

Hanzo simply raises an eyebrow at that. Meanwhile Lúcio leans in really close to McCree and taps him on the shoulder, before not-at-all-subtly whispering "I think he means hair; what you'd do to his hair".

Brown eyes widen, mischief all gone, and for a moment he's frozen in time, frozen in shock, before he turns and slams his head onto the table. It's enough to knock the hat off his head; Hanzo captures it before it reaches the floor.

"Fuckin' Swedes and their fuckin' rancid dog piss snaps", McCree groans, forehead against the damp tabletop. Hana and Lúcio are busy snickering about the whole ordeal, but otherwise people don't seem particularly interested in McCree's outburst. At this point most of them are used to it. "Never shots, Jesse, yah know better than doin' shots at your age..."

He trails off, wallowing in his own misery for a few seconds longer before he straightens up, clears his throat, and throws a long look over his shoulder at Hanzo. "Well, to answer your question darlin', I'd have’ta see yah with your hair down. Ain't much worth in guessin'."

It's all the encouragement Hanzo needs to untie his hair. As he does McCree shifts in his seat, almost as if he's unaware of doing so, his eyes following Hanzo's hair as it softly fans out over his shoulders. Hanzo narrows his eyes, catching the hitched breath of the cowboy, and how he swallows almost audibly, licking his lips before speaking up again. "Quite the mane you've got there, pumpkin'", he says, letting his eyes trail much more than just Hanzo's hair before speaking up again. "Don't think I'd do much 'bout the length, suits yah real well as it is. Maybe just check the ends, make sure it's all healthy n' nice..."

When he trails off Hanzo nods thoughtfully, pausing a moment before stating his decision. "In that case… I would allow you to cut it, Mr. Bad Ass."

It's enough to earn him a crooked smile and twinkling brown eyes. "Then come by my quarters tomorrow mornin'. Not sure I trust myself with scissors n' knives this late in the evenin'."

"Hah! Not like the snaps has anything to do with it, am I right, partner?" Lúcio hollers, rolling his r's and punching McCree's shoulder to emphasize his question. "Not sure if being hungover is a better alternative... dude, imagine if you accidentally stab him!"

"I will meet you at noon. High noon." Hanzo speaks up before the conversation gets completely derailed, and then turns to leave the kitchen. Behind him he hears McCree, somewhere between laughing about the time of their appointment, and chiding Lúcio that he would never accidentally stab someone.

The last thing Hanzo hears before turning to walk down the corridor is Hana's voice, much softer than she normally speaks; "Finally, eh, Jesse? I'm sure it'll be great..."

He tries not to think too much on the words as he lies down in bed, and if the room is spinning slightly he blames it entirely on the snaps.

\---

He awakes early with a mild headache. Grumbling to himself he decides that Swedes are untrustworthy, and that he'll never again drink anything offered to him by teammates. Few of them have any taste to speak of. First Mountain Dew, now Akvavit. If he didn't know better he'd suspect his colleagues of trying to poison him.

It's a quiet day, and Hanzo is determined to keep busy until noon. Pushing through the hangover he schools his expression before heading down to the kitchen. He's met by the loud chirping of Ganymede, the soft whirring of Bastion, and the familiar silence of Soldier 76.

Hanzo not only prepares breakfast for himself, but makes sure to bring a small bowl of seeds to the table. It earns him a whistle of approval from Bastion, and soon enough sharp claws are embedded in his bare shoulder as the bird lands to share the meal.

When he's done eating he finds himself staring into his cup of tea until the beverage is cold. Ever since he joined Overwatch he's been painfully impulsive. Perhaps he is taking it too far. Perhaps it’s time he regains control of his moods and his actions… before he ends up spiraling down into an abyss of bad thoughts, a grunt brings him back to reality.

"About time you got that cut." The soldier's eyes are fixed on him through that garish visor. His voice is rough, distorted by the mask.

"Indeed." Hanzo doesn't know what to say. For months they've been grunting at each other. He almost forgot using words to communicate was a possibility for the two of them.

"Jesse's a good kid. So are you. Won't give any of you _the talk_. You've seen shit. You're both a bit fucked." He still holds Hanzo's gaze, and beneath the intensity there's something sincere. Something bordering on caring. Something so alien to the soldier that he doesn't wear it well, but it's more than obvious that he's trying his best. "Guess I should say something like 'if you hurt him I'll hurt you'. Ridiculous. I'll say this instead; _any_ of you fuck the other over, I'll kill both of you."

There are no words. Hanzo simply stares, at a loss, feeling a warmth stir in his chest while simultaneously feeling his flight-or-fight instincts kick into overdrive.

"Good talk."

Soldier 76 nods at him once, before picking up some of the seeds in his gloved hand. With rough gestures he tries to beckon Ganymede, and after a few seconds it lands in his gloved palm. Meanwhile Hanzo hears a soft wee-woo-wee to the left of him, and tries to find comfort in the omnic's reassurance.

And then, like nothing ever happened, they're back to harrumphing at each other.

Once he's done with his tea, Hanzo decides to spend the rest of the day on the roof, meditating on how he got himself into this mess in the first place. If he's going to find the strength to make it to McCree's room by noon, he needs isolation for a while. The serenity of the blue sky and a gentle breeze will help him find some semblance of balance.

\---

Hanzo values punctuality, and finds himself outside of McCree's door with a few minutes to spare. He does not want to be early, and ends up standing in the corridor, not knocking a second sooner than high noon.

Nothing. Absolute silence.

Hanzo knocks again, perhaps just a bit more violently, and this time he's met with some sort of muffled sounds. Pained groans, the clatter of something metallic on the other side of the door, and then he's looking up at a sleep ruffled cowboy. McCree's right cheek is red from where it's been pressed against a pillow, his gaze narrowed as he glares at the person who dared interrupt his beauty sleep.

None of this is surprising to Hanzo. He knows McCree is terrible in the mornings, and considering the state of him last night it's not surprising he slept in. What does capture Hanzo's attention is McCree's sleep attire; he's wearing a pair of loose fitted red boxers, and a worn out t-shirt that once upon a time might've been a normal fit. Now it's torn high enough to display most of his belly and the treasure trail that leads beneath the rim of his underwear.

Hanzo swallows audibly and hopes McCree is too disoriented to notice (deep down he knows this is a foolish wish, as the cowboy wouldn't have survived long in this line of work if he wasn't perceptive).

"What's up..." McCree pauses, stares at him in silence for a moment, and then hits his head against the doorframe. "Shit, right, we had a da... hair. Thang. Hair thang."

His voice is rough from sleep, his drawl more pronounced than it usually is. It's enough to have the dragons stir, making Hanzo's skin tingle with want.

"Indeed. You said something about 'healthy and nice'?" He speaks mildly, trying to keep some kind of control of the situation. Realizing that he's better at keeping a level head when killing than he is in potentially-romantic encounters makes him feel slightly uncomfortable.

"Only way I know how, darlin'. Come inside, lemme take a closer look." McCree doesn't actually step out of the door frame to let him in. Instead he steps slightly to the side, making it necessary for Hanzo to squeeze past him - his bare arm brushing against both soft t-shirt and warm skin as he makes his way into the room.

It's a small place, much as his own, but the cowboy has had the time to personalize it more than he has. There's a few postcards on the nightstand, most of them seemingly from Mexico, and a few from Japan. His sheets are a dark shade of red instead of the standard whites, and on the wall above his bed is a poster of a desert. On the floor is a pile of worn out books.

"Ah know my sacred temple's all fascinatin' an all", McCree's voice echoes from the bathroom. "But I ain't gonna cut that mane of yours an' get it all over my bed. Come in here."

Hanzo does as he's told, and discovers that the bathroom differs quite a bit from his own. While only a bit bigger, it has a chair placed by the sink, and a table with multiple scissors, knives and hair products strewn about. It looks more professional than he expected. Part of him still thought the cowboy would just pull out a butcher knife stolen from the kitchen and start hacking away at his ponytail.

McCree seems slightly more awake. There's a cigar at the corner of his mouth, already lit, and he grins at Hanzo, his gaze trailing the archer before finally meeting his gaze. He gestures at the sink. "You sit on this here chair, lean back, and lemme get to work."

Hanzo tries not to blush at his words, and sits down, albeit a bit hesitantly. He's got his back to the sink, and he hasn't had his hair attended to by anyone but himself since he was a kid. Even though he's trying his hardest, he can't help but having his eyes drawn to every move McCree makes. There's a fluttering in his chest, if it's from fear or excitement he can't tell.

When McCree unties the ribbon in his hair, Hanzo closes his eyes. He hears a sharp intake of breath as his hair fans out, and almost instantly mimics the sound as he feels McCree's large hands comb through his mane. The fingertips of the prosthetic are cool and smooth against his scalp, while the warm touch of McCree's other hand leaves a blazing trail in its wake.

A few soft strokes, and then the sound of running water. Hanzo doesn't open his eyes. Instead he relaxes into the touch and the gentle sounds. Melts under the low rumble of McCree's voice.

"I'm gonna wash it real quick, that alright?"

Hanzo simply hums in reply, his lips falling open just so as the cowboy brings his hands up to frame his face and helps him lean back into the running water. When McCree starts shampooing is hair, massaging gently with his fingertips, Hanzo bites at his bottom lip, worrying it between his teeth instead of letting his pleasure be heard.  
  
"Ain't no need to talk, but you should know most customers take the opportunity to tell me all of their secrets n' sins." McCree's voice is roughened when he speaks, his breath warm with the scent of tobacco.

"You know of my sins." Hanzo's voice is barely a whisper, and his remark earns him an amused snort.

"I know of some, but I'm talkin' juicy stuff here. No killin', unless it involves a little death, yah read me?"

"Hnn." Hanzo doesn't dignify him with a proper reply. Besides, McCree is rinsing the shampoo out of his hair, and he would rather focus on those hands combing through and untangling his mane, rather than speak.

Soon enough he gets a towel wrapped around his head, and hears McCree knock over lord knows how many things while seemingly searching for something.

"'s a neatly styled beard you've got there, darlin'. Want me to sharpen the edges?" The question almost has Hanzo opening his eyes, and it's only through sheer willpower he keeps them closed.

Before he overthinks the offer, he speaks up. "Why not."

"Great!" The cowboy sounds outright giddy, but there's something beneath the excitement. An edge he can't quite hide. "I'll just smear this white stuff all over yer face then..."

The joke is just crude enough, the innuendo just horrid enough, and Hanzo couldn't keep from smiling even if he tried. Instead he allows his lips to curve into a wry grin, and relishes in the happy sigh it earns him.

"Careful darlin', yer gonna give this old man a heart attack."

Before he's able to respond he feels the bristles of a brush against his cheek. Soft shaving cream spread evenly against his jawline, brushing so near his lips, close enough for Hanzo's breath to ghost over McCree's hand.

He does indeed keep his beard neat, so there is not much for the cowboy to do. McCree quickly finishes adding the shaving cream, and… Hanzo is about to jump out of the chair, because that’s a straight razor against his throat. Cold steel with the tease of a sharp edge. He forces himself to relax into the seat, eventually finding pleasure in the way McCree skilfully guides the razor along his skin.

Soon enough the movements slow, and Hanzo finally opens his eyes. At first he feels disoriented; the artificial light of the bathroom blinding. McCree clears his throat, and the archer’s eyes immediately dart to him. He’s a sight to behold, t-shirt stained with water and shaving cream, and a crooked grin on his face.

McCree can’t seem to tear his eyes from Hanzo’s lips, and after a moment of confusion he realizes why. There’s still some shaving cream at the corner of his mouth. It must have him look outright ridiculous. Normally he would be appalled by such a dishonorable display, but right now he doesn’t feel the need to kill the mood over something so insignificant.

Instead Hanzo meets McCree’s gaze. He is wide eyed, pupils blown, can’t quite seem to look away from that patch of shaving cream. Hanzo is about to tease him, to ask what he’s going to do about it, but McCree beats him to the punch.

"To hell with it."

Next thing he knows, McCree’s lips are at the corner of his own. The scratch of his wild beard, the warm and rough touch of chapped lips, and then… the cowboy immediately breaks away from him.

"Oh lord, bad idea bad idea _bad idea_ , thought it'd be hot, 'scuse me a moment..." He dives for the sink, spitting repeatedly. When it doesn’t seem to clean out the bad taste he turns on the water, gargling desperately for quite a while before finally turning back to Hanzo.

"Don't think I've ever been less attractive, I'm messin' this up, so sorry..." He looks outright bashful, and it’s not a look that suits the cowboy. He’s still within reach though, and so Hanzo decides it’s his time to act. Too long has he been feeding the fire while keeping away from the flames; the time has come for him to burn, hopefully brightly and eternally.

His hands find McCree’s ratty t-shirt, and with a simple pull he has the cowboy in his lap – eyes hopeful, posture reserved.

"No need to apologize", Hanzo mutters. "It may surprise you, but I quite like it messy."

Next thing he knows McCree has captured his lips again, all warmth and hunger. His wet fingers trails along Hanzo’s jawline, angling him just so. It’s slow, something new, a moment of discovery that’s suspended between them, until Hanzo deepens the kiss.

In the end, they don’t even try to make it to the bed.

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes I write short things on [tumblr](http://comediakaidanovsky.tumblr.com/) as well (but mostly I just cry about fictional characters).


End file.
